Demons are Forever: Confessions of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner Read Free Book Online Page A

late.
    I turned the doorknob and gave the door a push. One inch, then, “Allie? Are you about ready?”
    Another inch, another question, another deafening silence. Screw it. I pushed the door all the way open, then froze right there on the threshold. The fact that she was still in her pajamas was enough to get my temper flaring. But what stopped my heart was the rest of the picture—my pajama-clad teenager poised in front of her full-length mirror, her feet in a near-perfect fighting stance, her iPod blasting who knows what into her head, and Stuart’s Civil War—replica sword tight in her hands.
    Before I could say anything, she lunged at her reflection, the movement changing her perspective and apparently giving her a full view of me. She yelped, then twirled around, managing to shield the sword behind her back as she did so.
    “I already saw it, Al,” I said, as soon as she’d yanked the earphones out of her ears. “You want to tell me why you have it?”
    “I... well ... you know...”
    I was desperately afraid I did know. “Do you want to talk about it?”
    She shook her head. “It’s no big. Honest.”
    On the contrary, I thought it was totally big. The question, though, was how to handle it. For that, I didn’t have a ready answer.
    “Does Stuart know you have his sword?” I asked, mostly because it was the first thing I thought of. “Isn’t that the one he keeps hanging in his office?”
    “Um, maybe?” “Well, put it back before he notices it’s gone. And get dressed,” I added, fixing her with my stern mother look. “We need to get going.”
    “Okay. Sure thing. No problem.” She started scrambling for her closet, clearly happy to have escaped a full grilling.
    As for me, I slipped outside the room and pulled her door closed again. I leaned against the door frame and closed my eyes, certain I’d completely mishandled the situation but too raw emotionally to go back in her room and start over.
    Once upon a time, I’d thought demon-hunting was hard. But that was before I’d become a mom.
    Trust me. In comparison to parenting, stalking and killing demons is a piece of cake.
    “Higher, Mommy! Higher!” Timmy squealed, his little legs d angling over the pea gravel as he flew through the air in the bucket-style swing.
    “Hey, squirt,” Allie said, swinging high next to him. “Just kick your legs like me. Then you won’t even need Mom.”
    “Thanks a lot,” I said, feeling a little pang in my heart. Because it was true. Allie was almost to an age where she didn’t need me. And even though Timmy wasn’t yet three, one of these days, he’d get there, too. That’s the bittersweet part of being a mom. You slather on all that love and attention so that your kids will grow up strong, confident, and self-sufficient. And if you’ve done your job right, you’ve raised grown-ups who can go off and manage just fine without you.
    We were in the cathedral’s play yard, having retrieved Timmy from the infant-to-three nursery (a lifesaver, in my opinion, and an unfortunate rarity among Catholic churches). Now we were surrounded by children of all ages. They were swinging, climbing on monkey bars, teetering on see-saws, and basically burning off all that pent-up energy that comes from sitting (mostly) still through more than an hour of Mass.
    We’d come in two cars, and Stuart had already headed on to the office. Technically, today was the last day of his vacation, but I should have known the lure of the job would be too strong to resist. Now, I was waiting for Father Ben to finish the post-Mass meet-and-greet so that we could spend a few minutes discussing this Andramelech thing.
    “He’s in a Pull-Ups,” I told Allie. “But if you need to change him, there are some more in the van. And some wipes and a change of clothes, too.”
    “Mo- om .” She dragged her heels, skidding to a stop, then twisting around in the swing to look at me. “How come I have to watch him?”
    “I already told